


The Seventh Year

by Amuly



Series: Gwil's Guide to Growing Up Torchwood [8]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seven-year-old boy falls through the Rift, Ianto and Jack decide to adopt him. This is the story of his life at Torchwood.<b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Ianto have a dinner date and put to rest a mystery that has plagued Torchwood for years.

“Jack? Jack, are you listening?”

Jack was peering over Ianto's shoulder, eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out exactly what it was he was seeing. It  _ looked _ like Andy. Except the young blonde man at the other end of the restaurant also appeared to be gregarious, happy, laughing, and with what appeared to be a beautiful woman. In fact, the woman herself seemed pretty familiar, though Jack could only see the back of her. Jack smirked to himself. Normally that'd be enough.

“So when I caught Gwil buggering his mate Tyler I told him, 'Gwil: condoms. They really are quite important at any age'.”

Jack turned his focus back to Ianto with a grin. “Nice try,” he snorted. 

Ianto raised an eyebrow and stabbed a little bit more forcefully than maybe was necessary at his cod. “Just wanted to see if you were listening.”

“I _was_ ,” Jack sighed. “But...” he peered over Ianto's shoulder again. When he saw Ianto's lips press tightly together out of the corner of his eye, Jack held his hand out imploringly at Ianto across the table. “Hang on, please. Humor me. Does that look like Andy to you?”

Frowning, Ianto turned around in his seat and followed Jack's gaze to the other side of the restaurant. After a moment's quiet consideration he nodded. “Yes. But who's he with?”

“That's what I want to know,” Jack mumbled to himself. With a grin, he stood up abruptly.

“No, Jack,” Ianto stared up at him, blue eyes pleading. “Leave Andy alone. He deserves a bit of a private life. Jack-” Ignoring Ianto, Jack strode past him and across the restaurant. “Jack, you... _damn it_.”

As he drew closer to the couple, the niggling sense at the back of Jack's mind that he  _ knew _ this woman from somewhere grew stronger. She was a black woman, that much Jack could tell from behind, and had her hair styled in piles and piles of tiny braids. Jack frowned. He had spoken to someone  _ recently _ with that hairstyle. Within the last couple years. But who had it been?

“Andy!” Jack clapped Andy on the shoulder in a display of the typical friendly boss, while he was really just maneuvering himself to the opposite side of the table. “And I see you've got a lady friend with you. I don't believe we've met, Ms.-”

And then Jack stopped, hand halfway outstretched, as he finally realized who the woman sitting across from Andy was. She was looking up at Jack, contempt perfectly expressed in a single raised eyebrow. “Hello, Jack. Ever fix that 'locked into your own base' problem you had?”

“Kathy?!” Jack turned his head quickly between Andy and Kathy, mind practically shut down in shock. Andy had been dating _someone_ all these years: someone who knew something about hush-hush government work. They had all thought it was someone in MI-6, but Kathy... that made sense. She knew just as much about them as Andy had when he first joined. But... _Kathy_? Andy had managed to land _Kathy_? Not that Andy wasn't attractive in his own, over-eager puppy sort of way. But Kathy had always struck Jack as more of a German Shepherd girl, herself.

Then again, maybe that was what worked.

“Ms. Swanson.” Shaking Jack out of his stupor was Ianto, swooping in calm and debonaire as always. “Pleasure to see you this evening. I apologize for Jack: he saw Andy across the restaurant and just had to come over and exchange pleasantries.”

Katy nodded, expression entirely skeptical. “Mm-hm. If that's the case, then...” Kathy looked significantly over at Jack.

Something shiny caught Jack's eye, and he tugged his arm out of Ianto's guiding grip. “Wait, wait a second. What's this?” Pushing his way past Ianto, Jack reached for Kathy's left hand and pulled it up. The young woman did not appear pleased with her hand being manhandled in such a way. Jack paid her – and Ianto's – disapproving glares no mind. Instead he focused on what appeared to be an, “Engagement ring? Andy, you sly dog, you never said!”

Andy rubbed the back of his neck, eyes desperately darting around for some sort of escape. “Didn't want to make a fuss, you know. Figured we'd have a good chance at actually having a wedding if I never mentioned it at work.”

Jack scoffed. “Nonsense! Gwen managed to get married!”

Ianto's coughed “ _ Nostrovite _ ,” went entirely ignored – by Jack at least.

“And Ianto and I pulled it off!”

Jack ignored Ianto's mumbled, “After a year-long rain check...”

“We'll be happy to have you two loverbirds married!” An idea struck Jack, and he slung his arm around Ianto standing exasperatedly next to him. “Ianto and I'll even throw you a bachelor party!” He turned quickly to Kathy, who appeared about ready to jump out of her chair to curb Jack's enthusiasm. “And I promise to let Ianto have last word on everything. So you know it'll all be on the up and up.”

Even though it was Kathy who looked ready to murder Jack for his continued interruption of her romantic evening, it was Andy who spoke up first. “Thank you, Captain. Now if you don't mind...” Andy's gaze turned to Ianto, still wrapped up in Jack's arm. 

“Right. Enjoy your evening.” Jack grinned as Ianto slipped out from under his arm and grabbed his wrist, leading Jack away from Andy and Kathy's table and back to their own. “You're mean,” Ianto chided Jack as they slid back into their seats.

Jack grinned, leaning back in his chair as he watched a similar smile breaking its way through Ianto's carefully controlled fa _ ç _ ade. “You love it,” Jack pointed out, lifting his glass of wine to swirl it slowly.

Ianto didn't reply save taking a small bite of his cod, and the mirth sparkling in his eyes. 

“You really going to let me plan the bachelor party?” Jack asked after a moment, watching the way Ianto's grin turned rueful as he took a sip of his own wine.

“ _No_ ,” he replied, setting his wine glass decisively down on the table. “ _Absolutely_ no chance in hell. I'll have Gwen help me do it – she's still only on partial field duty, so we can plan it all at the Hub while you lot are out blowing stuff up.”

Jack pouted. “You can't plan Andy's bachelor party with Gwen!”

“We'll plan the stag and the hen night together, that way everything'll coordinate nicely. I'll make sure to have Gwen give Ms. Swanson a call tomorrow morning and get all the details sorted so we can get started.”

Jack sighed, turning away from Ianto as he continued to lift delicate pieces of the fluffy white fish to his mouth. Andy was still looking adorably red at his table across the restaurant, though Kathy looked to have her hand over his on the table. Judging by their body language, she seemed to be reassuring him. Andy's mood was improving by the second.

“Do you think she ever fucks him with a strap-on?”

“Jack!”

Ignoring Ianto's indignation – honestly, it's not like Ianto could believably say he expected  _ better _ of Jack – he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, pondering the way Kathy and Andy interacted over their dinner. “I bet she at least pulls out the handcuffs and paddles every once in a while.” Suddenly Jack turned to Ianto, grin on his face. “Riding crop.”

Dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin, Ianto took a moment to himself before replying. Jack watched as Ianto set his napkin back in his lap, lifted his glass of wine, swirled it, took a sip, set it back down, and finally folded his hands loosely in front of him on the pristine tablecloth. “Fine. But only given to Andy, and only at the bachelor party.  _ Not _ to Kathy,  _ not _ at her hen-do,  _ not _ as an engagement present, and  _ not _ as a wedding present. Understood?”

Stretching his arm over the table, Jack detangled Ianto's fingers from each other and lifted one of Ianto's hands to his lips, kissing it softly. Ianto smiled at him over the candlelit dinner. “Deal,” Jack agreed. Ianto didn't move to extract his hand from Jack's all that quickly.   
  
  
  


  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Gwen are desperate for a babysitter at the last minute when Gwen realizes they have an untapped babysitting resource at their disposal. Rhys is more hesitant.

Rhys watched as Gwen paced around the room in her slinky little dress, hand twisting at her carefully styled hair. Her breasts really looked fantastic in that swooping, dark green neckline. Her eyes looked pretty, too.

“Are you _sure_ you don't know of someone else? A friend of yours, maybe?” Gwen clutched her mobile to her ear, desperation written plainly across her face. Rhys just sighed and moved away from the kitchen counter to find his own mobile. Looked like he was going to have to cancel their reservations. A shame, too: not least because those were the fanciest reservations he had ever managed on his own, sans Torchwood name-dropping.

“Alright, Tina, sweetheart. No, it's fine. We understand. Okay. Bye.” As soon as Gwen hung up her mobile she threw it at the couch, where it bounced off unharmed. Rhys was already dialing the restaurant. “Tina can't babysit. Something about her friend's goldfish dying.”

Rhys' face scrunched up in confusion as he listened to the automated message asking him to hold. “Eh?”

Gwen held out her hands, clearly exasperated. “I don't know, love.” With a dramatic sigh she flopped down on the couch. Rhys moved to join her, mobile pressed against his left side as he tugged Gwen into his right. “It's alright. Maybe I can re-book us when I cancel tonight. That way you can ask Jack for time off again straight away.”

Curled up into his side, Gwen listlessly shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose...” A moment later, she pushed herself up,  _something_ gleaming in her eyes. “Wait! Jack and Ianto!”

Rhys turned his mobile away from his mouth, even though the hold music was still playing tinnily in his ear. “Eh?”

“Gwil!” Gwen said. Rhys shook his head in incomprehension. It just sounded like she was listing off members of Torchwood, which certainly didn't appear to solve their babysitter problem. A laugh escaped Gwen as she slapped him lightly on the arm. “He could babysit! He's certainly old enough, and it's not a school night.” Scrambling for her mobile on the floor, Gwen waved one hand desperately at Rhys. “Hang up, hang up! Let me just call them and see if it'd be alright.”

Reluctantly Rhys ended the call. As he watched Gwen punch at the speed dial numbers on her phone, he felt a sudden and violent trepidation. “Wait, Gwen...” Gwen looked at him expectantly, not lowering the phone from her ear. “Don't you think maybe-”

“Hello? Ianto!” Gwen waved Rhys into silence, and he complied. It was that, or be at risk of getting smacked again. And Gwen didn't always realize what a punch she packed. “Rhys and I have a huge favor to ask you. Well... to ask Gwil.” There was a pause, during which Rhys could _just_ hear Ianto's voice coming through the speaker. “Our babysitter canceled on us- oh, something about a dead goldfish, I don't know- and we were thinking Gwil might do us a favor. We'd pay him, of course! And pick him up and drop him off back home, so it wouldn't be any inconvenience to you. … You know how good he is with Braith...” There was a longer pause this time, as Ianto seemed to be considering Gwen's offer. Gwen turned to smile at Rhys and give him an encouraging thumbs up as she waited. Personally, Rhys didn't feel very encouraged. “Great! We'll be over in a jiff. Thank you _so much_ , Ianto. We really owe you.”

Before Rhys could voice even the most minor of protests, Gwen was leaping off the couch and grabbing her purse and keys. “Come on, Rhys! Go get Braith!”

Rhys sat on the couch, continuing to be dumbfounded. “But, Gwen, wait-”

To his surprise, Rhys found himself with an armful of four-year-old daughter in his arms and hurrying after Gwen to their car. “Gwen,” he tried again, “Do you really think Gwil's the best option for a babysitter? After all, there was that incident with the-” glancing over at Braith, who was listening quite intently in his arms, Rhys quickly changed what he was going to say. “You know,” holding one hand out in a closed fist, Rhys splayed his fingers out dramatically, making a “Boosh!” noise as he did.

All the effect the reminder had on Gwen was for her to wave her hand dismissively as she slid into their driver's seat. After buckling Braith carefully in the back, Rhys joined Gwen at the front of the car. “That was almost a year ago,” Gwen protested.

“Six months,” Rhys countered.

“And he learned his lesson,” Gwen continued, completely ignoring Rhys as she pulled out onto the main road. “You should have heard Ianto talk about it after. Apparently Gwil was a right mess, with both his dads mad at him. Poor Ianto said he almost gave in and reinstated Gwil's clearances fully, just to make the dear stop crying his little heart out.”

Rhys sighed and stared out the window. It wasn't that he thought Gwil was a bad kid: he definitely wasn't. In fact, if Rhys really thought back to the kind of stuff he and his mates were starting to get up to when  _he_ was thirteen, Gwil probably came out as the most well-behaved thirteen-year-old Rhys had ever known. But all the manners and respect for authority in the world didn't change the fact that Gwil had access to a library full of the most dangerous technology the Earth had ever seen, and that Gwen was perfectly alright leaving their daughter with him.

Good kid or not, sometimes the temptation of turning your little cousin into a hamster was too great. And Rhys was  _pretty_ sure Gwil had access to a device that could do exactly that.

By the time Gwen pulled up in front of Jack and Ianto's house, Rhys had worked himself into a right state imagining all sorts of disasters that might befall Braith under Gwil's care. In front of the house, Gwil and Ianto were already waiting, Gwil with a rucksack thrown over his shoulder. As soon as he saw the car pull up Gwil was racing down to them, rucksack bouncing against his back. “Hey!” Gwil grinned at them as they stepped out, then promptly stepped past them to open up the back door. “Hey Braith!”

Braith shifted shyly in her seat, smiling cautiously up at Gwil. “Hi,” she finally mumbled.

“We're going to have fun tonight! We're going to watch movies and eat ice cream. Does that sound good?”

Braith nodded, grin lighting up her face even as she cast her eyes down and away from Gwil.

Rhys sighed as he looked at the boy cooing over his daughter. Maybe it'd be alright.

**

Walking up to his flat door with Gwen tucked safe and warm under his arm, Rhys felt like the luckiest man on earth. Good food, good wine, and the best woman at his side to enjoy it with. It didn't get much better than this.

As he pressed his key into the lock, Rhys felt a small flare of nerves imagining what he might find beyond the door. He swung it open immediately, not giving his mind time to come up with more and more fanciful and terrifying situations.

To his relief, the scene that awaited him and Gwen just inside their apartment was one of complete domestic bliss. Gwil was sat on the couch with Braith, the last few minutes of _Toy Story 3_ playing out on the telly. As they walked further into the flat, Rhys realized that Braith was asleep, tucked up against Gwil's side, head lolling against his chest. Gwil seemed quite content to let her cuddle against him, as he munched on a bowl of popcorn with his free hand and watched the last couple minutes of the movie.

“Have a good night?” Gwen whispered as she snuck forward to the couch. Gwil turned carefully around, doing his best not to jostle Braith.

“It was good,” he spoke just as quietly back. “Braith only fell asleep a little bit ago.” 

Gwen nodded as she scooped their daughter up in her arms and started to carry her back to her bedroom. She nodded at Rhys. “Why don't you pay him and take him home while I put the little one to bed?”

Rhys dropped a kiss on Gwen's lips as she walked carefully past, rubbing her hand soothingly up and down Braith's back. “No problem, love. Be back in a jiff.” Turning back to Gwil, Rhys gestured around the room. “Alright, gather your kit. Let's get you back home to your dads.” 

While Rhys waited for Gwil to get all his supplies tucked neatly away in his rucksack, he had a chance to look around the flat. To his great astonishment, he noticed that it wasn't wrecked in any one of the million ways he had thought it might be when he got back. What's more, it actually looked like Gwil had  _cleaned_ _up_ in his time there. The kitchen was clear of any dishes from the children's evening, or any dishes at all, for that matter. And Rhys had been fairly certain the washing up from that morning had still been there when they left. 

In the living room, the coffee table was no longer a mess of magazines and paperwork and general rubbish that it normally was. The magazines and paperwork were in two neat stacks on either end, remotes set between them. Rhys grinned. Now he'd know where the remotes were – for a little while, at least. And what's more – Rhys squinted at the DVD rack next to the telly. He couldn't be sure, but Rhys could  _swear_ Gwil had alphabetized their DVD collection. Rhys blinked. It was like having Ianto break into their flat and clean up while they were at dinner. 

When Gwil appeared at his side, rucksack packed and ready to go, Rhys wrapped a hand around his shoulder and led him to the door. “You know, you didn't have to clean up. All we needed you to do was watch Braith.”

Gwil shrugged. “I just tidied while Braith was watching the telly.”

Rhys chuckled to himself in disbelief as he got into the car with Gwil. And to think that he'd had any doubts about Ianto's son being able to look after his daughter.   
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice agrees to meet with Ianto. Just to talk.

They young man that was crossing the park in the early afternoon light was wearing a tidy three-piece suit. _Prim_ , was the word Alice associated with him. It was the word that had come to mind the last time she had seen him, too. Well: just after _tragic_. Any man or woman who thought they had Jack Harkness' heart was tragic. That was the first and last word that would come to Alice's mind in association with them.

As the man drew closer to her position on a somewhat-secluded park bench, Alice found herself appraising him carefully. Tall, about as tall as her father, it seemed. But his height didn't lend itself to the dramatic flare and attention-grabbing that her father's did. No, this man was definitely the strong and silent type: perfect for providing her father with the support and constant mothering that he required. 

He wasn't awful looking, either. Not by a long shot. But then again, Alice supposed she couldn't expect any less from her father. Poor guy: he could have a normal boyfriend, and a right fit one with the way he looked, but instead he somehow found himself attached to Jack. It was a waste of a perfectly good man.

“Ms. Carter?” The young man stuck has hand out stiffly. Alice didn't even bother to rise to greet him, instead grasping his hand before quickly letting it go. “Thank you for meeting me. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well,” Alice scanned the playground they were at, watching the children run around. She wasn't even sure herself why she felt the need to meet with this persistent young man, who had called her once a month every month for the past three years, leaving polite requests on her voicemail for a return call, a meeting: anything. Maybe it was because he was still calling, after all this time. Maybe it was because he was still alive, and she knew the poor man's luck couldn't hold out much longer. 

“So. You two ever go through with that wedding you tried to invite me to?”

Sitting gingerly down across from her, Ianto folded his hands loosely on the picnic table between them. Alice noticed the ring sitting heavily on Ianto's finger before he even spoke. “Yes. It ended up being delayed by nearly a year, but we finally managed it.”

“I don't know whether congratulations or apologies are in order,” Alice mused.

The man arched an eyebrow at her and replied dryly: “I'll accept the congratulations and leave the rest, if you don't mind.”

“Suppose really I should be impressed, shouldn't I?” Alice asked. “You two managing to get married at all, with you both still in Torchwood.”

Ianto glanced away from her, down at the table for a moment. Tragic, definitely. Alice could already see it in him: he was doing this because he earnestly _believed_. He believed in fighting the good fight, he believed in helping people, and worst of all, he believed in Jack. “It's not as rare as it once was. We've had four marriages in my tenure at Torchwood three, and two children.” He looked up at Alice, kindness in his eyes. Always _kindness_. It sickened Alice. “Your father's done great things in his time leading the institute. There's more of us, so we aren't spread so thin. It's a much safer place to work.”

“And that's why you hold your shoulder so stiff, is it?” Alice asked. A cool grin crossed her lips as she saw Ianto wince. “Real _safe_ workplace.”

“It takes its toll,” Ianto acquiesced. “But I've managed to live past thirty. In fact, almost all of our team is in their thirties, now. If that's not progress,” Ianto splayed his fingers out in supplication, still intertwined on the table. Alice scoffed.

“You said something about a son?” she finally asked, changing the subject. She wasn't about to get into an argument about Torchwood mortality rates when this Ianto man so obviously knew the score on that front. 

Ianto nodded as he reached into his jacket. His hand reappeared clutching a small stack of photos. “Gwil. He was a Rift refugee. Displaced from eighteen forty-eight. I assume-”

Alice waved the question away as she took the photos from Ianto. “I'm familiar with Rift refugees.” She looked up at Ianto for a moment. “Back in my father's day, company policy was to shoot them after a full interrogation.”

“Then that wasn't your father's day,” Ianto countered softly. “That was Ms. Guppy and Ms. Holroyd's days. _Now_ is your father's day: he's the one who instituted so many of the more humane policies we have today.”

Shrugging one shoulder, Alice turned her attention back to the photos in her hand. They showed a young boy. At his eldest, he looked to be around Steven's age. But there were older photos, too: photos of him celebrating birthdays in the Hub, dressed up in period costume for some school play, running around on a football field. 

Picking out two of the earliest and latest photos, Alice laid them out side-by-side on the table and turned them to face Ianto. She pointed at Ianto in the pictures. “What's it been: six years since you got him? Seven?” Ianto nodded. “Look at you.” She tapped the photos in succession. “You've aged. A laugh line here, a grey hair there.” She pulled out a couple random photos with her father in them: of course it didn't matter when the photos were taken. “And look at him. Not a day older.”

Ianto sighed, taking the photos back from Alice and re-orientating them all properly. Alice resisted the urge to laugh at the fastidious young man: just about as opposite from her father as any man could get. “I  _am_ aware of your father's unique condition, Ms. Carter.”

“But he isn't yet, is he? Your son.” From the way Ianto stiffened and refused to meet her eyes, Alice knew the answer. “It's starting to show. Give it five, ten more years at the most? He'll start looking at photos and wondering why Dad's aging and Daddy isn't.”

Clearing his throat, Ianto changed the subject: “Don't you have a son? Steven? Jack's always spoken fondly of him.”

Taking out her phone, Alice passed it Ianto. “Jack's not allowed to see him anymore. Too many questions about why Uncle Jack isn't aging. Make sure you tell him that.”

A flicker of pain and sadness crossed Ianto's face as he stared resolutely down at the background of Alice's phone. “Jack knows,” he replied softly. After taking a moment to collect himself, Ianto passed the phone back to Alice. “He looks like a lovely boy. I'm sure he'll grow into a fine young man.”

Tucking the phone back into her purse, Alice shrugged. “Hope so. Father's out of the picture, so it can get hard without the male role model. But he does alright.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Alice wanted to laugh at how absurdly _polite_ this man was. What did he do in Torchwood: kill the aliens with kindness? Offer them tea and biscuits until they agreed they'd best be on their way?

“Don't be. Better off with his dad out of the picture. That kind of guy, you know?”

Ianto inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I'm familiar with it, yes. I understand how it goes.”

Drumming her fingers on the table, Alice considered letting Ianto go. Let him live the rest of his (likely short) life, madly in love with her father and wasting all his precious time chasing after the man that no one could have. But Ianto seemed so genuinely decent, Alice couldn't let him go without at least trying to warn him.

“Have you thought about what's going to happen to Gwil? When you die in the field?”

She watched as Ianto visibly winced at the “when” in her sentence, and could tell he was mentally substituting it with “if”. Alice sighed. It was never “if” with Torchwood – it was always “when”. At least, unless that Torchwood operative happened to be her father.

“I'm doing less and less fieldwork every day, as it is. Currently I'm head of the Torchwood archives, and I'm in the middle of a project where I liaise with our different offices around the world, as well as UNIT, the CIA, and the SVR.” He paused, glancing at her. “That's-”

“Russian intelligence, I know,” Alice interrupted impatiently. “You don't grow up Jack's daughter without knowing these things.” _You don't grow up Jack's daughter without being hunted by those very same organizations_ , was the more bitter thought that followed the spoken one.

“The project isn't set to complete for another three or four years, if it stays on schedule. At that point I'll probably switch to a consultancy role, permanently retiring from active duty.”

Alice's grin was angry. “And you think that'll work? You think Torchwood will let you keep your little plans intact? Because that's exactly what happens at Torchwood: they  _never_ let things go according to plan.”

Ianto shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If something does happen, Gwil has Jack to raise him. He's just as much Gwil's father as I am.”

Alice leaned back on her bench and hummed sardonically. “Sure,” she grumbled. “Until someone else comes along. Until he gets antsy, decides to build a new life. These little fantasies of his – these little pretend-families he likes to build – only last for ten, twenty years at the most. As soon as the kids get old enough to ask a few questions, or his spouse starts to grow a bit resentful, it's over. Because you know that's how it'll end up, don't you?” Alice leaned forward now, forearms pressed firm on the table. “You'll resent him, someday. They always do.”

Ianto's eyes suddenly turned so sad, Alice was taken aback. “I'd never resent him that,” he whispered. “And anyone who does, doesn't really know him. It's not a blessing, what's been done to him: it's a curse.” He took a shaking breath, and for just a moment Alice found herself _believing_ the conviction behind this young man's emotions. “I'd never resent him having to watch his loved ones grow old and die around him, again and again. Being abandoned once a lifetime – or even more often, with how life at Torchwood is – by those he loves. Maybe for a different kind of man, one who wasn't so full of life, so ready to be apart of it, seize it and snog it and love every bit of it, immortality might be a blessing. But it's not for Jack. It's never been, for Jack.”

“You really think you love him, don't you?” Alice wondered.

Ianto's voice was as quiet as it had been when he replied, blue eyes soulful. “I know I love him. And I know he loves me – even if I can't understand how he lets himself.”

A flare of anger coursed through Alice. How  _dare_ he? How  _dare_ this young man to presume to have gained the love of her father, when she so well knew from first-hand experience that such an emotion was the one thing he was entirely incapable of. Abruptly she found her mouth snapping out sentences she hadn't meant to say: “He doesn't love you,” she snarled. “He  _can't_ .”

Calmly Ianto checked his watch, frowning at the time. “Alice, I apologize, but I have to get going.” He paused for a moment: hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he was sure he wanted to say something. Apparently he decided for it, because he spoke again a moment later. “The fact that he loves me doesn't mean he didn't love your mum-” he started.

With that, Alice stood up and gathered her purse over her shoulder. “No, the fact that he never  _said it to her_ means he didn't love her!” she spat. With that, she stormed away, leaving the stunned young man sitting speechless on the park bench. She ignored the tears stinging at her eyes, because she had promised herself long ago she wouldn't shed any more tears over that man Jack Harkness.    
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil watches a mission go horribly wrong, and starts to really suspect there's more to his dad than his parents are telling him.

Gwil's body was thrumming with nervous excitement as he stood at Aunt Toshiko's shoulder – well _above_ Aunt Toshiko's shoulder, actually – and watched her screen. She had pulled up several CCTV cameras and Rift readings as she monitored the team's activity. The current team out in the field consisted of his dads, Uncle Owen, and Uncle Andy. Aunt Gwen was upstairs in the tourist office with Braith, and Uncle Mickey and Aunt Martha had the day off. Tad always tried to make sure couples had the day off at the same time, so they could spend time together. 

The field team was converging on an old abandoned warehouse by the Bay, where there had been a sudden surge in Rift activity the night before. Aunt Toshiko had said something about there being life signs on her equipment, and then reports started filing into the police departments about strange noises and maybe even a monster sighting at the same spot. Gwil's dads had raced to assemble everyone this morning to take care of it. And with his dads out of the Hub, Gwil figured it couldn't hurt to come up out of the Archives for just a little while and watch the events unfold from the safety of Aunt Toshiko's computers screens.

Aunt Toshiko pushed a lock of hair behind her ear as her fingers flew above her keyboards, eyes darting over the many screens in front of her. “It should be on the second story,” she relayed. “Though I can't be sure. It could also just been very, very tall.”

Dad's voice came over the line. “Well that's not the most reassuring piece of information.”

Aunt Toshiko shrugged helplessly at her desk. “Sorry.”

“There's nothing around the back,” Tad's voice broke in. “Jack?”

“Nothing in the front,” Dad replied. “Alright, Andy you're with me. Let's head up the stairs to see if we can't get a visual.”

A frustrated burst of air escaped Aunt Toshiko's lips. “The building's so old there's no CCTV inside, much less upstairs. It looks like it's in the northeast side of the second story, but I can't be more specific than that. I'm sorry.”

“No problem!” Dad's voice was light and easy. Gwil felt a burst of pride as he listened. Dad was _never_ afraid of _anything_. Gwil shifted a little in anticipation. Whatever it was, Dad was sure to handle it brilliantly. Probably even without breaking a sweat. “Ianto, Owen, cover us from the stairwell down here. Tosh, Owen's got a camera so we'll see if we can't get you a visual.”

A new imagine flared to life on one of Aunt Toshiko's monitors after a brief burst of static. It was the feed from Uncle Owen's hand-held camera. Right now it didn't show much else besides Dad's greatcoat-covered back. After a moment of shaking the camera spun around and Uncle Owen's face filled the screen. “Be a good love and make sure you tell us if you see something, yeah?”

Aunt Toshiko's face creased into a worried smile as she gazed at Uncle Owen's face. Gwil rolled his eyes. It seemed like  _everyone_ in Torchwood was all loved-up all the time. Even Uncle Andy had a pretty woman his eyes would go all gooey over. Hell, even Uncle Mickey, who was by far the coolest of all the Aunts and Uncles, would fall over himself to please Aunt Martha. “Of course,” Aunt Toshiko replied. “Be safe.” 

Uncle Owen's face winked into the camera. “Don't worry. I've got my own human shield leading the way.” The camera turned back around, and Uncle Owen's hand shot out to pat Dad on the back. Gwil glared at the screen, but didn't say anything. Aunt Toshiko had already told Tad he was watching, but Gwil didn't much want to remind him of that. Knowing Tad, it was lucky he had gotten to watch this much of the operation. A single peep might get him banished back down to the Archives again. 

The camera shook with Uncle Owen's footsteps as he and Dad walked quietly up the stairs. The camera panned around for a second as Uncle Owen turned to look at the other stairwell on the opposite end of the warehouse, where Tad and Uncle Andy were walking up, guns drawn. Gwil smiled at his tad, even though he couldn't see it through the screens. His tad might be a bit fussy over safety and the “dangers of Torchwood” and whatever, but he could be just as tough and brave as the rest of the field agents when the occasion called for it. 

“Oh, _wow_.” Dad's voice was barely even a whisper over the comms. The camera spun around as Uncle Owen turned back to face front, where Dad was looking. Gwil gasped as the image came into focus.

There, at the far corner of the warehouse, was a giant  _monster_ . Its many legs – eight, if symmetry held and there were four on the far side to match the four Gwil could see – were folded up beneath it. The monster appeared to be some sort of insect, because of the exoskeleton that shined with hard strength in the low light filtering through the windows of the warehouse. It had the torso of a... well... Gwil gaped. It was a  _monster_ . It had giant pincer claws and horrifying fractal bug eyes and what looked to be a ridge of feeler-hair down its chest and back. Gwil wrapped his arms around him. How would his dads deal with  _that_ ? How could  _anyone_ deal with that?

“Looks like it's asleep. Toshiko?”

Aunt Toshiko's hands flew over her keyboards. “Probably. In fact...” Reading something on one of the screens on her right, Aunt Toshiko suddenly gasped and spun around to the camera feed on her right, squinting hard at the somewhat grainy image. “Jack, I think it's female. I think it's sitting on a nest.”

“Great,” Uncle Owen's voice came through the camera and the comms. “Big bad Mum has got her babies to protect. Fantastic.”

There was the rapid click of several guns being cocked over the comms. Gwil felt his heart jump into his throat at the sound. 

Dad's voice hissed over the lines. “Tosh, is there any way we can send big Momma back through the Rift?” 

Aunt Toshiko was already shaking her head even as her fingers clacked over her keyboard. “No surges coming through for anytime in the foreseeable future that show the same readings as the one that brought it here. I can send it all over the universe and through time with the other spikes, but not back to where it came from.”

“Can't do that,” Tad murmured. “Whoever finds it next might not be able to deal with it like we can. Jack-”

“I know,” Dad cut in. “No room for Mom at the inn.” His voice was heavy with something Gwil couldn't exactly identify, but he knew enough to tell Dad wasn't happy. “Alright team: we've got to put Mom down. Ready on my mark.”

The camera shook for a moment, and suddenly the world was much higher. Uncle Owen had set the camera on the ground as he steadied his gun in both hands. His feet came into frame first, then the rest of him as he and Dad walked closer to the alien monster sleeping on her nest. Tad and Uncle Andy came into the frame next as they crept closer, the entire team converging on the still-sleeping monster. Gwil felt a chill go down his spine, inducing a full-body tremble as he watched. 

When Dad finally said, “Mark,” the word was no louder than a whisper. But the entire team heard it, because they all opened fire at one.

And then all hell broke loose. 

The monster rose up, screeching, waving its claws about with unrestrained fury. As she pulled herself to her full height, terrible insectoid legs scittering out beneath her on the floor of the warehouse, her head brushed the ceiling. Gwil gaped at the monitor, frozen to the spot as sick dread and fear gnawed at his stomach. His muscles twitched at him to  _do something_ , but there was nothing he could do. His dads were a half hour away up the coast, in a warehouse he'd never be able to reach in time. 

The shots kept ringing out over the comms as the Torchwood team held their ground. Gwil's eyes darted between his dad and tad as he watched them stand firm, both feet planted and arms not wavering in the slightest as they fired shot after shot. When Tad ran out of bullets he calmly ejected the empty magazine and slid a full one in from his belt with such fluidity that barely a second seemed to pass between shots. When Dad ran out, he wasn't so lucky. His stupid little Webley was a revolver, and needed to be reloaded by hand. Gwil saw him curse and glance down at his gun for a split second. That was when the monster struck.

The monster turned on Dad, perhaps sensing that he was in trouble without a weapon. Gwil's entire body jerked as he watched one of those two-meter-long pincer arms go straight through Dad's torso and out the back end.

Gwil raced forward to the screens, even though there wasn't a thing he could do. “Dad!” He pressed the comm on his ear. “ _Dad_ !”

The comms were a mess of shouting and screams, and maybe even the terrifying, gurgling noises Dad was making as he died. The rest of the Torchwood team was still shooting the monster, slowly but surely weakening it. Uncle Andy had raced away for a moment, but then he came back with a new gun. When he shot it Gwil realized it was a harpoon with cable attached to it. It managed to bring two of the legs out from under the alien, but it still had six more.

Abruptly Gwil found Toshiko's hands on him, turning him away, pushing him back into the Hub and the Archives, away from the screens. Belatedly he realized he could hear Tad's voice over the comms, shouting something at Aunt Toshiko.

“-get Gwil!” 

Gwil struggled away from Aunt Toshiko. He was bigger than her, so it was easy to push past and return to the monitors. On it Uncle Andy and Owen combined had managed to bring down two more of the monster's legs. Blood from the monster (and Dad?) was slowly oozing its way across the floor and to the camera lens. Tad was at the front of the monster, having swapped out his own gun for something that looked horribly more ferocious and definitively alien. He was standing in front of Dad, protecting him. Dad... Dad was lying on the ground in the midst of that slow-moving puddle, not breathing. Gwil knew he wasn't breathing. Gwil  _knew_ what death looked like, and a hole through the chest the size of a football was  _death_ . Dad was dead.

“I'm sorry, dear.” Gwil spun around to see Auntie Gwen there, big eyes looking at him sympathetically. Gwil opened his mouth to say something... and then found himself inhaling some sort of aerosol. He was asleep before he hit the ground. 

**

When Gwil woke up again, it was on the couch in the Hub. He bolted upright, mind going immediately back to the last thing he had seen on the camera feed from the warehouse. Dad lying dead on the ground, in a pool of the monster and his blood. Tad standing in front of him, protecting his body. And the monster, still alive, still attacking.

“Tad! Tad!”

Gwil hadn't even time to push himself up from the couch before Tad was there, suit a little worse for the wear but looking intact. Which was more than he could say about Dad. 

“Tad!” Gwil's eyes welled up, finally finding the time to cry for the first time yet. “Tad, Dad... I saw... _Dad_ ,” his voice broke, body trembling as he stared up at his tad imploringly from the couch.

Tad was there in an instant, pulling Gwil into his arms and holding him tight. “He's alive. Dad's alive. Gwil, listen to me,” Tad pushed him back until he could look Gwil in the eyes. “Did you hear me? Dad's alive. He's okay.”

Gwil shook his head. No. It was impossible. Dad was dead: Gwil had  _seen him die_ . No one  _ survived _ a wound like that. Not even someone with a fifty-first century immune system or part alien DNA could survive that. 

As if on cue Uncle Owen bounded up from the autopsy bay, snapping off a disturbingly blood-drenched pair of latex gloves. “The munchkin awake?” Gwil frowned through his tears. He was as tall as Uncle Owen, now. “Well, your dad's going to be fine. Pincer somehow managed to miss all vital organs. Punched a nasty hole in his chest, but missed his heart and lungs.”

Gwil wiped at his face, eyes narrow. “You're lying,” he spat. “There was a hole in his chest the size of a football. I  _ saw _ it!”

“Champ.” The voice was weak, the word more of a croak than an actual word. But Gwil would recognize it anywhere.

Gasping, he pushed past Tad and Uncle Owen as he raced over to the autopsy bay. There, with a bandage wrapped around his whole torso, was Dad. Alive. Dad: grinning weakly, skin pale as a ghost, shivering slightly on the cold autopsy table. But  _ alive _ . 

Gwil ran into his arms, squeezing Dad tight to himself. A million questions ran through his mind, not least of all  _ how _ . But in the moment, the only thing that could escape his mouth was a broken “ _ Dad _ .”

“I'm sorry.” Dad's breath was hot and oh so very  _ alive _ on his ear as he whispered into it. Gwil's eyes were squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotion surging through his system, and in the moment he just let himself be reassured of Dad's health by holding him close, by feeling his breath in his hair and his cool skin against his, and feeling his heart, weak but definitely beating beneath all those loads of bandages. “Sorry I scared you, champ,” Dad croaked out. “But I'm okay. I'm alive.”

Gwil shook his head as he pulled back, tears still tracking down his face. “I saw-”

“I'm sure it looked worse than it did,” Dad reassured him. “But I'm okay now.”

Gwil could only shake his head and bury his face in Dad's chest again. All the questions he had could wait for later. If he took some time to think about it – after the relief and love had worn off – Gwil might feel angry. Dad was impervious or _something_ to the worst of wounds, and Dad or Tad hadn't told him. Dad had yet _another_ cool thing about him he was keeping secret from Gwil. When he was younger it had been wicked, finding out a new thing about Dad every once in a while. But now it wasn't: especially something this life-changing and serious. He deserved to know something like this, so he didn't have his heart break and his world feel like it was ending as he watched helplessly from a computer screen. 

But all of that anger and questioning could waiting for later. For now, Gwil was content to have his dad alive in his arms.  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil decides to give himself a birthday present. Ianto is not amused.

Ianto groaned as the struggling weevil fell on top of him, halfway on its way to unconsciousness. Jack was there in a moment, helping him tug and shove the weevil off so that Ianto could slip a hood over its head and immobilize it with zip ties. “There has got to be a more efficient way to take care of them,” Ianto panted.

Jack just grinned back at him. “You find it and I'll use it.”

Ianto raised his eyebrows, huffing slightly as he stared down at the subdued weevil. “Give me another year to finish the work I'm doing with the Archives and I'll get right on it.”

Suddenly a snarl distracted both men, causing them to spin around. Two more weevils were headed straight for them out of the alleyway. Ianto had a moment to think to himself that it looked like something was scaring them, something was causing them to flee, before the aliens were right on top of the two men. Jack immediately pushed to the front, weevil spray at the ready. Ianto didn't even have a moment to glare at his husband's disregard for his own safety before he was holding his own spray out in front of him, ready to face the second weevil.

“Tad! Dad! Cover your ears!”

Ianto didn't even have time to register the familiar voice when a canister rolled between them and the weevils. A shrieking, terrible noise came out of it, causing Ianto to almost drop the spray before he slapped his hands to his ears. Next to him Jack was doing the same, even as he looked around in bafflement. The weevils moaned and cried before collapsing quite abruptly, as completely knocked out as their brethren Jack and Ianto had subdued moments ago.

The noise stopped just as suddenly as it had started. In the quiet Ianto lowered his hands from his ears and looked back, in the direction the canister had rolled from. There, standing with the wind blowing through his hair and looking every inch the proud hero, was Gwil.

Ianto started toward him, fury and fear gripping his heart in equal measure. “What do you think you're doing?”

Gwil's smile faltered, but just for a second. Then it was back full-force as he jogged up to meet his dads. “Looks like I'm saving you, doesn't it?” he grinned and nodded down at the canister. “Neat, innit? I know I'm not supposed to take stuff from the Archives, but I was doing research on subduing weevils and thought-”

Ianto grabbed Gwil's arm as the boy bent to retrieve the canister. Words failed him as he stared into Gwil's expectant eyes. Slowly Gwil's face fell as he stared up at Ianto.

“It's more efficient,” he tried again. “And safer. You don't have to get as close...” Gwil trailed off. He looked over at Jack, seeking approval from him. “Dad?”

Ianto turned to Jack. His expression was momentarily conflicted before he looked to Ianto. Then he turned serious, staring down Gwil just as Ianto had. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Gwil's expression fell. “But... Dad-”

“No.” One of the weevils' arms stirred sluggishly on the ground, causing both men to turn their attention away from Gwil for a moment. Ianto readied the zip ties as he crouched down to take care of them.

“We'll talk about this later,” he grumbled as he began to secure the weevils. “And for this, all the plans we had for your birthday are officially _off_. Dad'll cancel the reservations the second we get in the car. You're off duty again. _Completely_ off. No probation, no-”

Ianto's rant was cut short as the ground trembled beneath his feet. Perplexed, he glanced up at Jack, who was staring down the alleyway the weevils had been running from. “Did you feel that?” he asked Jack.

“Yeah,” Jack said slowly, still staring. 

Gwil had tugged something out of his pocket and was staring at it. “There's Rift energy over there,” he said. “ _Loads_ of it. And it's alive. Wait-” Gwil paused as he fiddled with the device, frowning as he concentrated. “Maybe not? I guess it's fifty-fifty: half organic, half mechanical? I can't really-”

“In the car!” Ianto shouted. “Now!” 

To Ianto's relief, Gwil only hesitated for a moment before he was off, dashing away for the SUV parked on the street. Something roared from the direction of the alley. Jack and Ianto looked at each other. 

“The big gun,” Jack said.

“Let's just hope it's big enough,” Ianto grumbled, even as he dashed off with Jack to the SUV.

**

Ianto's grip on Gwil's arm was probably tight enough to leave bruises, but Ianto didn't care. A couple of fingerprint bruises were the least of Gwil's worries with what that defiant little brat had pulled.

Ignoring Gwil's grumbling protests, Ianto dragged him down to the autopsy bay and manhandled him onto the table, shouting for Owen. The doctor dashed in a moment later, concern obvious. “What happened? Anything serious?”

“No!” Gwil's response was immediate.

“Just some scrapes,” Ianto agreed. He turned on Gwil, staring daggers at him. “But we don't really _know_ how bad they might be. There could be an alien virus pumping through your veins right now.”

Owen's eyes widened. “Why do you think that? Should I get a kit?”

Ianto sighed as he turned back to Owen. “No. Just some disinfectant. But that's not the point.” 

Owen's concern quickly vanished as a knowing grin slipped across his face. He went over to his cabinet and started pulling out disinfectant and plasters. “Oh, I see. Little man decided he was old enough to help on a mission today, didn't he?”

“I'm fourteen!” Gwil put in. “I've been working here for _years_! I'm old enough!”

“Not another _word_.” Ianto's voice was as stern and cold as he could make it, which was considerably so. The fear wound tight in his chest certainly made it easier.

Owen shook his head as he sprayed disinfectant on Gwil's knees and elbows, which had gotten scraped in the fight to subdue the organic ship gone mad that had fallen through the Rift. Ianto stood to the side and watched, temper simmering barely beneath the surface.

“I don't even want to know what you were thinking,” he finally said. “I _know_ what you were thinking. You thought you were... immortal,” Ianto's voice cracked on the word, and he ignored the glance that Owen gave him. “You thought you could play the big hero, to come in and save the day.”

“I did,” Gwil grumbled.

“Not a _word_!” Ianto shouted. Gwil's eyes went wide as his mouth snapped shut. Even Owen looked a little put in his place as he started to smooth the plasters over Gwil's knees. Taking a moment to compose himself, Ianto continued on, voice lower. “All of the rules are there to protect you. You know this. Your father and I don't want anything to happen to you. Men and women older and wiser than you have fallen victim to the things that come out of the Rift. You saw it this afternoon: it was supposed to be a routine weevil round-up and something else came through. It was something we weren't prepared for, something we weren't expecting, and it took your father and I thinking on our feet and using the _years and years_ of experience we have to stop it.”

Gwil glanced up at Ianto. His tone was more cautious this time, a little more respectful. “I know. But I've got years, too. I've been around all this stuff half my life. I've had weapons training for six years, now. I've got more experience than Uncle Andy, and I've worked here longer than him and Aunt Martha and Uncle Mickey!”

“No you haven't,” Ianto reminded him. “You've _lived_ here longer than them. You're not a field agent, and you've only worked part-time in the Archives for less than two years.”

“But I've-”

“You're not an adult!” Ianto pressed his hands to his hair, trying to think of some way to get through to his impossibly impetuous son. “Do you want to end up here?” He gestured around the autopsy bay. “In a body bag? _Dead_? Because this is _exactly_ where you'll be if you keep doing things so foolhardy, so _stupid_!”

“Dad does it!” Gwil shouted, hopping down from the autopsy table. “Dad did it just today, when he jumped in front of you when those weevils were coming! You probably thought I didn't notice, but I did!”

“Dad's-” Ianto cut himself off, glancing at Owen. He just shook as head and held his hands up in a clear “I'm-staying-out-of-this” gesture. “Dad can be stupid too, at times. And you can be sure I'm going to be having words with him after this.” Pressing his hands to Gwil's shoulders, Ianto looked him in the eye. Someday soon, he wouldn't even have to bend his neck to do that. Gwil was growing up so fast. It was terrifying. “Dad's an adult. He can look after himself.” _Sometimes_ , Ianto's mind added. “Just... can't you wait, Gwil? There'll be plenty of time to join Torchwood and play the hero years from now. After you're finished with school. After uni,” he added. Because he'd be damned if his son wasn't going to get a university education.

To Ianto's surprise, Gwil's eyes were calculating as he stared up at Ianto. “Dad does things you don't do. Dad gets himself into the worst situations. And you let him. But you won't let me.”

“You're my son,” Ianto pointed out. He ignored the question that clearly underlay Gwil's observations. Jack was still adamant that Gwil know nothing of his immortality, even though it was becoming more of a problem every day. “I can still protect you. Dad's an adult: I can't control what he does.”

Shrugging off Ianto's hands, Gwil stalked out of the autopsy bay. “I'm going to be an adult soon, too! And then I'll apply to the Torchwood in America or Russia or Canada, and you won't be able to stop me!”

Jack appeared at the top of the stairs, turning to watch as Gwil pushed past him and stomped away. “I can!” he shouted cheerfully after him. “I'm head of _all_ Torchwood divisions, and I can blacklist you!”

“I'll apply to UNIT, then!” Gwil shouted as he hurried to the cog door. “Bet they'd take me!” The door clanged shut behind him, alarms blaring.

Jack grinned down at Ianto. “He's getting grouchy, isn't he?”

“He's a teenager,” Owen supplied. “All those hormones running through him, can't do a thing about it. Find him a nice bird and you'll see all the Torchwood talk stop.”

“Or boy!” Jack cheerfully added. Owen nodded his assent.

Ianto sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We can only hope.”   
  
  
  



End file.
